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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931802">Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/5her1ock/pseuds/5her1ock'>5her1ock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Abusive John Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bad Parent John Winchester, Child Abuse, Dark, Depression, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Drunk John Winchester, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Friendship/Love, Gen, Graphic Description, Happy Ending, Homophobic John Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nephilim, POV Dean Winchester, Panic, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Wingfic, Wings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:02:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/5her1ock/pseuds/5her1ock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is tired of hopping from school to school. He's had enough of his father being either absent or drunk all the time. He's tired of it all and he's struggling to hold on. Then he meets a kind classmate with beautiful eyes who just might save his life...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mania</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi there! Please read this note before the work. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON THIS WORK BEFORE READING! There are a lot of sensitive topics in this work, and if any of them may affect you negatively, please stop yourself and read something that will not cause any unneeded stress or emotional pain. If you would like a happy Destiel fic to read instead, feel free to check out my work It's About Time, it's still in progress but it's the kind of sweet that rots your teeth. ALSO, I would like to add that I do not condone any of the issues I write about in this work. A lot of these are very sensitive topics, please see my post-work author's note for more on that. Take care of yourselves, best wishes!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He knew there was blood before he even looked. The sting came right when he expected, just after his fist connected with the cold metal locker. When he did look, he felt an odd satisfaction watching streams of red drip slowly down the back of his hand. “Better blood than tears,” he thought to himself. There was nobody else in sight, he knew everyone cleared out as fast as they could. After all, who could blame everyone else who had gym right before lunch. So he lingered. He had nowhere to be, so why bother. </p>
<p>There was no point in making friends, he’d be leaving as soon as he made any sort of connection. That’s just how his life was. Here one day, gone the next. Today he was here, at some low-class high school in nowheresville, with nondescript paint peeling off the walls and underfunded classrooms whose ceilings probably leaked when it rains. </p>
<p>Dean Winchester was in no mood to interact with people today. This was the third first day of school in two months, and he was done being the new kid. He hated the probing questions kids asked. “Where did you move here from?” and, “How did you get that scar under your eye?” None of it was anyone’s business. Because of that, he always ended up being the new kid shrouded in mystery, assumed to be either a weirdo or a druggie. Either way, he was always the outcast, and the most popularity he ever achieved was from other students generating lore about the questions he refused to answer. </p>
<p>So he decided to sit. The locker room seemed safe for now. The lights had been flicked off because some teacher hadn’t bothered to check whether everyone had left. It was quiet. Dean pulled out a small flask from his inside jacket pocket, and took a drink. He shuddered as the sting of the cheap whiskey trickled down his throat. That was all the lunch he needed. He vowed to himself he would survive the day. Stay numb.</p>
<p>He wandered into one of the bathroom stalls attached to the locker room, and began to carve a pentagram into the stall door with a pocket knife he definitely wasn’t supposed to have at school. He didn’t care. He had done this 13 different times at different schools in the last 5 years and he never got caught. It had become his ritual. His mark. He never stayed anywhere long enough to leave an impact, so why not leave a trail of breadcrumbs in his wake. Dean put the knife away and proceeded toward his next class. </p>
<p>The remainder of his day was mundane. His teachers were all mediocre, he had one who especially seemed to hate his job and his life. Dean liked him the best. Nobody seemed to take any particular notice of him. He liked it that way, he wanted to be invisible. </p>
<p>When his day was over, he took his usual seat in the back of the bus, the one consistent thing he had between schools. It took him 30 minutes to get home and another five to remember which apartment was his. He finally walked in the door to find a glowing and giggling Sammy running towards him. His younger brother embraced him in a big hug, and for the first time that day, he smiled. </p>
<p>“Hey Sammy! How was your first day of school?”</p>
<p>“It was great!” He beamed, “I brought the funny glowing rock from dad’s shelf to class and everyone wanted to hold it!”</p>
<p>“Sam! You can’t touch the stuff on dad’s shelf, you know that! Put it back before he notices it’s gone.”</p>
<p>As Sam was replacing the stone, their father chose the complete wrong time to stumble through the door. A gust of air blasted through the open doorway, carrying with it the combined smell of alcohol and urine. Dean noted the redness in his father’s face and the layer of perspiration on his forehead. This was not going to be a good day. Especially now that John had noticed Sam holding the glowing rock, reaching to place it back on the shelf.</p>
<p>“Samuel William Winchester! Just what do you think you are doing?” John barked, causing Sam to cower, still holding the rock. Dean instinctively stepped between John and Sam, shielding Sam with his body. </p>
<p>“It’s my fault,” Dean lied, “I told him he could take it with him to school to impress his classmates.”</p>
<p>“He took it to SCHOOL?” The red on John’s face turned to crimson. Dean knew what his father did for a living, he wasn’t a mechanic, he hunted monsters. He also knew this rock was harmless, it was an ancient wellness stone enchanted with a mild healing spell for small cuts and scrapes. Dean thought to himself that that stone may be useful in just a minute. </p>
<p>“Yes he took it to school, John,” Dean sassed. Wrong move. Before he even knew what hit him he felt the wind leave his lungs. He twisted his head behind him and mouthed the word “go” at Sam, having to add a “now” before his little brother moved. Once he knew his brother would be safe for now, he got back to his feet.</p>
<p>“I know what that rock is,” Dean wheezed, “and it’s harmless.”</p>
<p>“It’s not harmless, and you disobeyed direct orders,” John roared in a fit of rage throwing his fists but only landing about every third blow. Dean didn’t try to fight back, he knew it would only make things worse for him. Right now, this would only end in about a dozen light bruises that would take about a week to heal. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry I won’t do it again,” Dean repeated over and over, the words feeling empty.</p>
<p>When John decided he was finished “teaching Dean a lesson,” as he called it, Dean threw on a jacket to cover up the fresh reddish-purple marks and went to find Sam. He checked his face in the hallway mirror and wiped off a small pool of blood from under his eye. </p>
<p>When he reached the door to the room the boys shared, Dean rattled the door handle, it was locked. “Good job,” he whispered to himself in relief. He then knocked the word “mango” in morse code on the door after glancing behind him to make sure John had retreated into his room. Tentatively, Sam opened the door to let Dean in and locked the door behind them. </p>
<p>“Did he hurt you?” Sam asked, looking concernedly at the mark on Dean’s face.</p>
<p>“Nah Sammy,” Dean lied, “I just ran into the mantle over the fireplace,” he said motioning to his face, and resisting the urge to wince as he lifted his arm. He would do just about anything to protect his little brother, to keep him in the dark about all of the monsters in the world that were real, including the one they lived with. Dean knew Sam didn’t quite believe him, but he also knew he would accept his word as fact. So he let the kid believe the lie. </p>
<p>Dean sat with Sam as he drifted off to sleep, muttering sweet words that he was safe and everything was okay in his world. He then set up a makeshift bed on the floor next to his brother, double checked the lock, then finally followed his brother into a restless and unsatisfying night’s sleep. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>In the morning, John had already left by the time Dean woke Sam up to get ready for school. This was typical, as a lot of John’s hunts required him to be out before dawn. This meant Dean was responsible for getting Sam to school safely, not that John would even bother to do that if he were there. </p>
<p>Once Sam was on his way to school, Dean applied some coverup to the red mark on his face, a trick he had learned years ago so that his teachers wouldn’t ask questions. There were only so many times he could “fall down the stairs” of a one-story apartment. If John ever found these items on him, though, he would surely go ballistic. He would be even more enraged if he knew Dean actually enjoyed wearing the makeup and would sometimes put it on even when there was nothing to cover up. Which is why Dean usually brought all the makeup he used to hide his truth with him to school. </p>
<p>Once at school, the day went on as normal. He drifted through all his classes, invisible and unamused. Until he got to his second to last class. </p>
<p>He smelled the smoke before he heard the alarm. Someone shouted “the culinary class has done it again!” and all of the students began rushing out of the classroom. Dean could barely register any of this though, as his face went as white as a sheet and he sat stoic in his chair. The teacher yelled “last one out hit the lights” over the clamor of desks and footsteps, as the excitable students exited, happy for any sort of distraction from class. </p>
<p>The room clear, the light on, Dean sat alone, his head playing over and over the vivid memory of the fire that killed his mom. He was no longer in the room, not mentally. He pulled his arms to his chest and could feel the weight of his then infant brother clutched to his chest. His heart raced, his vision was black. All he could see was the memory. Sweat drenched his palms, his chest, it rolled down his face leaving a wake of smeared coverup and a visible wound. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His ears were ringing, and the light in the room hurt. And the smell. It overwhelmed him. He could feel the smoke inhabit his body, like a living creature strangling him from the inside. Every part of him ached and felt numb at the same time. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” The voice snapped Dean partly back into reality. He still felt lost, but if only he just followed the voice…</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” The voice asked again. This time, Dean regained enough of his vision to see a concerned expression on the face of a boy with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair. </p>
<p>It took Dean some effort, but he managed to shake his head. He knew in a state like this he wouldn’t be able to form words. He knew because this had happened before, just never at school. </p>
<p>The mysterious classmate pulled up a chair beside him. “Don’t worry about the fire,” he said, “I’m in the culinary class, and one of my classmates had the bright idea that they wanted to be fancy and set a dish on fire that was not meant to be set on fire. Lots of smoke but no danger.”</p>
<p>Somehow Dean was comforted by this stranger’s presence, and closed his eyes as the boy talked to him, trying to focus on anything other than that terrible day.</p>
<p>“I’m Castiel by the way, but everyone just calls me Cas. Not that you need to remember my name. You seem like a cool kid. I’m sure you wouldn't associate yourself with a dork like me. I mean look at you, you’re gorgeous. Oh god. Did I say that out loud. I’m sorry. Okay, this is going to sound really awkward after the thing I just said. Ignore that. But if you feel like you can, grab my hand, it will help ground you,” the boy, Castiel, awkwardly placed his hand in front of Dean. Dean took it, and held it tight. </p>
<p>“I’m D-Dean,” Dean managed, teeth chattering. </p>
<p>“Hi Dean,” Castiel said, trying and failing to hide his enthusiasm, “it’s nice to make your acquaintance. I assume you’re the new kid everyone’s been talking about. Not that there’s anything to talk about. Actually everyone’s been talking about how there’s nothing to talk about. You’re kind of a mystery. Not that anyone really talks to me. I just overhear things. Nobody really notices me.”</p>
<p>Dean opened his eyes to find a forlorn Castiel staring past him. The boy’s hand was still clasped in his, and the distraction helped him regain enough control of his own mind to realize that. But he didn’t pull away. Instead he decided to respond. </p>
<p>“Nobody usually notices me once the ‘new kid’ thing calms down. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t be here for long anyway.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Castiel looked sad, likely trying to figure out what he meant by that, “well…” suddenly Castiel looked concernedly at Dean’s face, “did someone run into you on their way out the door?”</p>
<p>Dean traced the mark with his finger, pretending to see it for the first time, “Oh, maybe, not sure.”</p>
<p>“Are you feeling steady enough for me to walk you to the nurse’s station? You really should get that cleaned up, looks like there’s some dirt that got in it.”</p>
<p>“No!” Dean said a little too hastily, “I mean, no, thanks, I’m okay, I can clean it up myself, it’s not that big a deal.” He finally pulled his hand away from his new acquaintance.</p>
<p>Dean wanted to continue talking to this Castiel. Upon closer observation, now that Dean had composed himself, the boy was breathtaking. His features were so delicate and defined. He was awkward, but in an elegant kind of way. There was almost a celestial glow about him that Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. </p>
<p>He so desperately wanted to stay in this moment, but he knew he had to go. The alarm had stopped, students would be coming back any minute, and he had to get to the bathroom and fix his face before anyone else saw. </p>
<p>“Thank you for your kindness,” was all Dean could manage to say before racing out of the room with his backpack. Castiel looked as if he might cry as Dean exited. </p>
<p>Dean rifled through his backpack frantically searching for his concealer. It was nowhere to be found. It should have been in his bag, in the little pouch that he kept an assortment of different items. Maybe it fell out. Maybe he just wasn’t seeing it. Either way, Dean was done with today anyway. He decided to just ditch class, find a nice alley, and drink alone for an hour before walking home. </p>
<p>He arrived home substantially later than usual since he had missed the bus. He immediately felt regret as he crossed the threshold of their apartment building, not knowing why. Then his stomach dropped completely as he approached the open door of his apartment. </p>
<p>A piercing wail followed by profuse sobbing greeted Dean as he walked inside. He dropped his backpack and sprinted to place himself between John and his brother.</p>
<p>“Did you know about this?!” John demanded, holding up the pouch that had been missing from Dean’s backpack that day. Dean suddenly felt like his insides simultaneously melted.</p>
<p>“It’s mine,” Dean said, tears streaming down his face. He then glanced behind him and noticed that beneath a layer of blood and tears, little Sammy had sloppily tried to apply some of the makeup onto his own face. </p>
<p>“Like hell it is!” John snarled through gritted teeth, “No. You don’t get to take the blame for your brother anymore, it’s time he learns how to be a man.”</p>
<p>“No!” Dean screamed as John wrestled with him to shove him aside, “I can prove it! Look at my face, if that bag was here all day, then how was I able to apply it to my face just now if I didn’t do it this morning?”</p>
<p>John took a second to process what Dean had said, and in a fit of rage started spitting profanities and slurs at both of his children. He then squared his shoulders and Dean did not want to wait for the followthrough of what was about to come. He balled his fist and landed a right hook directly on John’s nose. </p>
<p>“RUN,” he said to Sam expecting John to retaliate, closing his eyes and bracing himself for a blow that didn’t come. Instead, he opened his eyes to find that John had caught Sam by the collar of his shirt and placed the child in front of him like a shield. </p>
<p>“Get. Out.” John said in a voice so cold that Dean had no idea what might happen to Sam if he didn’t leave in that instance. So he did. </p>
<p>He walked down his street, and kept walking. He wasn’t familiar with this town, they’d never been here before. And he’d been so busy taking care of Sam that he didn’t have time to explore. That didn’t matter now. He had failed. He’d failed Sam. It was his fault, that’s what he told himself over and over. He couldn’t get the image of his little brother’s frightened face out of his head. He couldn’t go back, and he had nowhere to go. This was it, he thought, the end of the road.</p>
<p>He walked until his feet were sore. He watched the sun set over crumbling pavement in a rundown part of town covered in layers of graffiti. He spotted a bridge up ahead of him, and felt his body guide him to it. He didn’t want to think anymore. Feel anymore. He just let his muscles guide him, washed over by a sudden wave of clarity. </p>
<p>His arms no longer hurt as he lifted himself up onto the railing of the bridge. He scaled it with ease. While his father was awful, he made sure his boys were physically fit. Of course Dean had to think of something positive right in this particular moment. He threw away the thought and closed his eyes, letting the ice cold breeze flow around him. He felt it with his whole body, he was overwhelmed with sensation. He could feel his breath, his heart, both pulsing so fast it felt like they were trying to run away with the wind. </p>
<p>And then they did.</p>
<p>He didn’t think as he fell, just felt. Felt the air beneath him trying and failing to catch him. Felt the butterflies in his stomach that seemed to contradict the speed at which he was falling. He opened his eyes for a second, saw the ground, and closed them again. That was it. His skin contacted something, yet he felt no pain, then everything went black. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>A light shone through the darkness. Everything was blurry, and it smelled like… garbage? “Oh no,” Dean thought, “serves me right I went to Hell.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Dean felt a hand fall gently on his shoulder. He still couldn’t see well but he could make out an outline of a figure kneeling beside him, and he was apparently lying on his back on the ground. </p>
<p>“Reaper?” Dean’s voice barely sounded like his own, but if this was Hell it would make sense that he’d be stripped of one of the few things he liked about himself. </p>
<p>“What? No, you’re alive Dean,” the voice said shakily, as if on the verge of tears. Dean was confused. Hell made more sense than living through that fall. It was a long way down. He’d done the math. He may not have been good at a lot of things, but he was actually an excellent math student. A human body of his weight and mass traveling that distance downward would have certainly killed him on impact. </p>
<p>“Impossible,” Dean said weakly, closing his eyes. </p>
<p>“Dean!” the voice exclaimed, sounding terrified, hands shook him gently but sternly. </p>
<p>“Ow!” Dean whimpered, feeling the sting from the bruises on his arms, the hands recoiled.</p>
<p>“I’m… I’m sorry,” the voice started. Suddenly Dean realized it sounded familiar. He let himself open his eyes again. This time they were more in focus.</p>
<p>Staring at him were two water-filled crystal-blue eyes, brown hair, soft features and… wings? As soon as Dean saw them he couldn’t stop staring. They were jet-black and breathtaking. They looked so soft Dean had to stop himself from reaching out to pet them. But before he could truly admire them, the brown-haired boy tucked them away as if they were never there.</p>
<p>“C… Castiel? Right?” It took Dean a minute to remember the boy’s name. His face was bright red, apparently embarrassed that Dean had seen his wings. </p>
<p>“Y-yes,” he seemed caught off-guard, “D-dean I…” he looked like he was simultaneously looking for something to say and fighting back tears. </p>
<p>Dean didn’t really know what to say either, but he had regained his vision so he observed his surroundings. They were apparently in some sort of alleyway behind some low-tier restaurants that were closed, with a couple overflowing dumpsters stationed a few feet away. That explained the smell. The light he had seen emanated from a street lamp, and there was a dusty handprint on the sleeve of his jacket. </p>
<p>With all of his observations, in combination with the fact that he could still feel the bruises on his body, Dean determined he was probably still very much alive. The one thing that couldn’t be explained was the wings. </p>
<p>“You have wings,” Dean said it so casually it took the boy by surprise and he let out a giggle.</p>
<p>“You say that like it’s something you see every day,” he looked nervous still, but sounded a little more at ease.</p>
<p>“Well…” Dean bit his tongue out of instinct, and then realized that hiding family secrets really didn’t matter to him considering the situation he was in. </p>
<p>“My dad’s a hunter,” Dean started, and at that Castiel seemed confused, “he hunts monsters, demons, werewolves, that sort of thing.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” was all Castiel responded.</p>
<p>“So… that’s why I’m not shocked I guess. Also why I thought you were a reaper. Never seen one so I wouldn’t know what they look like.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a reaper,” Castiel began, hesitating, “I’m a nephilim. Half-angel.”</p>
<p>“Cool,” Dean said, unphased, still to the surprise of his new friend, “never met a nephilim either. Haven’t really met any supernatural creatures--er, um beings? I don’t go with my dad on hunts, we… don’t get along…”</p>
<p>Dean pulled his knees up to his chest as if he was trying to hide from his own emotions. This is exactly what he was trying to flee from. </p>
<p>“I understand,” Castiel said, looking at Dean.</p>
<p>“No offense, but you don’t,” Dean started, fists tightening out of reflex, then loosening as he let the tears fall, “you don’t understand how helpless I feel. How hard I’ve fought to get nothing in return. To get kicked out of my house with nowhere to go. To feel so unwanted. To have failed. There is nothing left for me…”</p>
<p>Dean broke down into a fit of sobbing. Castiel gently placed his arm around Dean’s shoulder, but backed away when Dean flinched at the touch.<br/>
“Dean,” Castiel whispered, causing Dean to look up a little, but Castiel was not looking at him, but rather past him, “you’re right. I may not understand the things you’ve been through but… I understand…”</p>
<p>Hesitantly, Castiel slipped off the pale brown trench coat he had been wearing, and shuddered a moment at the cold. His eyes glossed over, and he looked emotionally pained as he held out his arms, palms up to Dean. Dean gently grabbed both his hands and understood what Castiel was trying to tell him. He saw the faded horizontal marks and the outline of a still healing, longer stripe on each arm. </p>
<p>“Six months ago,” he started, “I was exactly where you are now. I had a second chance. And now so do you. I speak from experience when I tell you it will get better. Everything will get better. I won’t lie to you, it is hard. You will have to work for it. But it will get better,” the more he spoke, the more gentle conviction laced his voice, “There are people who care, I care. Your brother cares. You are not worthless. You are worth so much more than you know. The world is dark sometimes but I promise you there is a light. Sometimes you’ve got to search for it, and sometimes you have to create it, but it’s there. You can be strong and you are not alone, there are people in your life who will help you be strong, who will help you learn to love yourself. You’ve just gotta hold on and keep fighting, okay? Just keep fighting. It’s okay to feel, it’s okay to be angry, use that anger to drive you. Take your life back. It’s yours to live and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, even yourself. Dean Winchester, I barely know you, but I know you have so much potential, and so much goodness in you, don’t you dare throw that away. As a nephilim I have sort of a sixth sense in regards to people, I can see their souls. And you, Dean, have a kind soul. I could sense its pain when I first met you, and sometimes, my soul bonds to other souls and I can sense them no matter where they are. I know it sounds weird, and my soul has never bonded so fast, but when I felt your soul crying today I knew I had to come and find you. And I’m glad I did, because the world would be so lost without you.”</p>
<p>Tears streamed down Dean’s face, and he was speechless. He didn’t know how to respond except to wrap his arms around Castiel and pull him in close, sobbing into his shoulder. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, so grateful that this random stranger cared so much. Except he wasn’t really a stranger anymore. He was Castiel. Dean’s guardian nephilim. </p>
<p>“This may be a bit forward, but given the situation I assume you don’t have anywhere to stay tonight, why don’t you stay with me? It’s just me and my mom, since, ya know, dad’s an angel, whole nephilim thing. Anyway, she won’t mind, I never bring anyone home so she’ll be happy that I’m spending any time with other kids my age.”</p>
<p>Dean nodded politely and followed Castiel home. When they walked in the door, Castiel’s mother stifled a gasp at the state of Dean, and let a welcoming and genuine smile cover her face.</p>
<p>“You boys were out late,” she said to Castiel teasingly, “I called you about ten minutes ago, I was starting to get worried. Next time call me back Cas. I’m glad you’re back safe, though. You guys should get to bed tomorrow is a school day.”</p>
<p>The two boy’s headed to Cas’ room, “You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Castiel offered, “Sheets are fresh, just changed them earlier today, and before you try to say you’re fine with the floor, don’t worry it’s okay take my bed I insist.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Dean replied, curling up beneath blankets much softer than the ones he normally had, “for everything, I…”</p>
<p>“No thanks necessary,” Castiel somewhat interrupted, probably because he could hear the tears in Dean’s eyes, “I have no regrets, you were worth it. Now get some sleep.”</p>
<p>Dean did not feel the need to respond, and felt a smile crawl across his face when he saw Castiel’s beautiful wings spring from behind his back as he flicked off the light. He assumed it was probably more comfortable for him to sleep that way. It didn’t take long for Dean’s new friend to drift to sleep, snoring like a newborn kitten. He felt oddly safe here, and managed himself to drift off into an undisturbed slumber.</p>
<p>As he drifted off to sleep, he repeated to himself in his head, “Tonight is my second chance, tonight is the night everything changes.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It had been five and a half years since Dean met his now-boyfriend Castiel, or as he now called him, Cas. And things certainly had changed. The two bonded over a love of travel, and had done such sometimes through celestial means, which to this day still spooked Dean because he hated flying. The pair were men now, and in a way Dean had been for longer. He had become emancipated and an adoptive parent of Sammy as soon as he was able to secure himself a job and an apartment that could support the both of them. Sam was just about to start high school, and had big dreams of becoming a lawyer, of which both Dean and Cas had full faith in his ability to achieve. Cas had moved in with the Winchester boys just after finishing high school, and Sam was more than happy to have Cas as a member of their little family. Dean had made a name for himself as a handyman in a place he once felt was undeserving of a name. He was happy. They all were. Even more, they were content. Dean felt he was exactly where he wanted to be, exactly where he was meant to be, there was only one, small thing missing…</p>
<p>“Honey I’m home,” Cas called teasingly, coming back from a regular 9-5 day at the bakery he managed. The owners had taken to him very quickly, and seeing as he had started out at a very early age, to help support Dean and Sam, they gave him the promotion somewhat recently to reward his loyalty and good nature, even though he was rather young and underqualified for the position. </p>
<p>“Hey Cas!” Dean chimed back playfully. He quickly gave the kitchen he was standing in a once-over to make sure everything was in order before Cas walked in. The look on Cas’ face was exactly what he was going for.</p>
<p>“What’s the occasion? Did I forget about a holiday?” Cas asked, astounded, and a little concerned. There was a white linen draped over their kitchen island, with candles in the center. Dean had gone out and gotten them some new fancy plates, since most of the ones they had were plastic and didn’t match each other. There were also real flowers in a vase as decoration, and soft classical music for ambiance. The perfect cliche. He thought Cas would love this.</p>
<p>“No, silly, you didn’t miss a holiday,” Dean retorted, casually avoiding the first question. He ushered Cas onto a barstool that he had placed a couch pillow on, and poured him a glass of sparkling cider. Neither of them drank alcohol. The pair did a really cheesy “cheers” as if they were in some sort of movie. </p>
<p>“So Cas, there’s something I wanted to ask you…” he didn’t need any sort of confirmation to know how red his face was that moment. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” Cas asked, clearly confused.</p>
<p>Dean positioned himself on the floor, on one knee, all old fashioned-like, dramatically straightening his shoulders and holding a velvet box, “Castiel Novak, I know in the span of things it’s only been a short time. But the time I’ve spent with you have been the best years of my life. Years I wouldn’t have gotten without you. I can’t imagine my own life without you being a part of it, and frankly I don’t want to. You are the kindest, smartest, most genuine man I know, and I love you in so many ways I can’t even put it into words. You are my love, my life, my angel. You have taught me so many valuable lessons, stood by me through thick and thin, helped me learn to be a better person, brother, friend and partner. Through your eyes I have learned to love myself almost as much as I love you. I am so grateful to have met you, and to know what a healthy relationship feels like. There is so much more I could say, I could go on for ages, but what I’m getting at, Cas, is this: will you make me the happiest man on not only this planet, but in all celestial realms, and marry me?”</p>
<p>“YES!” Cas cried out, tears streaming down his face and colliding with Dean’s as he kissed him several times. </p>
<p>Both became a huddled mess on the ground, crying and embracing one another out of pure joy. They were filled with excitement at the knowledge that, at this moment, their story was only just beginning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I was really hoping to convey a message of hope through this piece. I know the themes are dark, and I touch on a lot of things that are kind of taboo, and it is really my only hope to handle these topics with the weight and seriousness they deserve. Because they are real issues people struggle with every day, and I think it is so important that mental health is a thing that people talk about, that it becomes more and more destigmatized. For anyone out there who might benefit from hearing it: dark days get brighter, bad times get better, sometimes it just takes some work and effort, and most of all it is a sign of strength for those who need it to reach out for help when they are struggling.</p>
<p>Wishing every single one of you the best, you are all amazing, deserving, and worthy. Take care of yourselves!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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